Pieces
by corkcircle
Summary: After the Games, all that's left are pieces.


"You must cleanse your life of everything from the Games if you want to get better."

He was sitting uncomfortably in the chair, staring out the window. This was the fifth doctor he had been to in as many months. They had prescribed him different medications, different diets, sleep schedules, breathing rituals- all of it. And he so desperately wanted to get better so he followed each new order religiously.

But nothing had worked.

The doctors had given up almost immediately, convinced he was making everything up or that he was coming to them just for the drugs.

This doctor was different. He wasn't sure why this new doctor was different but all he knew was that he wasn't prescribed new drugs; instead, at every bi-weekly check-up, they simply talked. It had been this way for a few weeks. His episodes still hadn't stopped and he was growing increasingly frustrated with this doctor.

"The Games," the doctor continued, "is where all of your trauma stems from. Now, the Capital has ways of making certain… persons… forget certain things, but the methods are rather barbaric and I am not authorized to perform such procedures. Besides, the President would never hear of one of his Champions undergoing such ordeals."

"So how do I forget everything from the Games?" His severe face had finally turned to meet the doctor's own.

"Well. I'm assuming that you have remnants from the Games and your victory tour?" He nodded in response. "You have to get rid of everything. Throw it away or store it somewhere else. Hopefully, in a few years, you will be better equipped to handle the memories but for right now, everything needs to go."

"What about…" A tormented expression crossed his eyes before he cleared his throat and the normal steely look returned. "What about the people? There are still a few people in my life who are tied to my memories from the Game. What do I do about them?"

"Cut them out of your life. For now, of course. Anyone who you can directly tie back to the Games should leave."

He again nodded in understanding, realizing that what he had to do might be harder than surviving the Games.

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His episodes had started three months after their victory tour had ended. At first, he suffered from the occasional and expected nightmares of slaughtering the tributes in the Arena again. It slowly manifested itself into either full-body paralysis or fits of chaos. He had hurt himself several times from falling to his marble floor when his paralysis took over. His chest constricted and he couldn't breathe. He was unable to call out for help. His fits weren't any better. He had replaced numerous windows, mirrors, doors, and had had to patch several holes in his walls after his fits.

His episodes came on randomly, sometimes for a few seconds, sometimes for hours. During his episodes, his mind was captured in reliving the worst moments of the Games. Sometimes there were real memories, other times they were made-up. In the moment, he was never able to tell if they were real memories or not.

He had come out of his memories countless times to run to his Victor's trophy, sobbing with fear that her name was not next to his. That he had somehow survived the Arena while she had not. That he had left her to die so that he could win. That he hadn't even been with her when her canon fired.

And every time he read her name next to his, he entered into another fit. This time, he would sink to the ground, wailing over his torment and his possible loss.

It was now nine months after the Games and things were only getting worse.

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"He says I have to-" His tongue was unable to finish the dreaded sentence.

"You have to what?"

"The Games are the root of my episodes and everything from them needs to be cut out."

"What does "everything" mean?"

"My mementos, my sword, trophies, medals, outfits… people." He couldn't look at her. How could he? She was more than just a few memories from the Games. She was the very reason he volunteered to enter the Arena and his sole purpose to survive.

"By people you mean me."

"Yes."

"That's ridiculous. I have nothing to do with your bad memories of the Games. Honestly, don't you want me to help you get through this?"

"Of course I do but I… I can't survive like this. Not for much longer," He looked up to meet her eyes swirling in an angry storm.

"Fine. I guess I'll just get out of your life because my presence is such a burden." And she left.

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She didn't leave.

She refused to leave. She would find reasons to come to his house or to "accidentally" bump into him in town.

And every time she did, he would have an episode shortly afterwards.

The episodes were getting more intense. They were lasting longer than normal and he couldn't shake himself out of them like he was sometimes able to. Now, he suffered through hours of memories, real or fake he didn't know, of slaughtering hundreds of children, of tearing them from their screaming mothers, of laughing as he pushed them one-by-one off the cornucopia to meet the mutts.

The memories paralyzed him during his manic episodes and enslaved his mind for hours afterward. There was no escaping the pain because he couldn't escape her.

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He woke from a nightmare.

He never woke up screaming. The screams ripped through his chest after he opened his eyes. The terror caught up with him when he sat up in bed, drenched in sweat, chest shaking with adrenaline. It was always then that the cries escaped his body. It was then that his vision disappeared behind an endless crash of waves.

This time was different, though.

This time, when he awoke he didn't scream. He froze, realizing that she was sitting at the end of his bed. She only added to his terror now, knowing that her presence would bring severe consequences later.

"I have them too." She didn't say it for the want of sympathy; instead, it was simply a fact.

"I'm sure everyone who survives does." He could only make out the outline of her shoulders shrugging.

"Mine are getting worse."

"Mine too."

"What are you going to do about it?" She was taunting him- waiting for him to tell her that he was going to send her away. Waiting for him to tell her that he couldn't see her anymore.

"You know what I have to do."

"Yes."

"You know I don't want to." She snapped.

"Really? Because this sounds like the easiest thing to do. This also doesn't sound like a cure for anything and they're just trying to separate us. So, no, love. I don't think that this isn't what you want to do."

"You know that's not true. I'm trying to get better. Why can't you understand that?"

"Because you didn't put up a fight!" She yelled. "You followed the doctor blindly and you ignored me. You gave up everything that we have worked for- everything that we have sacrificed! You gave me up in an instant with a second thought. Do you understand that?"

"I can't keep living like this. My mind is killing itself and I'm trying to stop it! Is that so wrong?" She stood up from his bed to open the door. Dim light and an uncomfortable silence created by sorrow filled the room.

"You promised me," She started. "That you would be there for me. That you would be there to wake me up and pull me out of every nightmare. That you would be there to help me calm down. So where were you tonight? Where were you last night? Or the night before that or the night before that? Or every single night since you decided that I am a burden? Where have you been?"

"I've been here going through just as much trauma as you are going through."

"So that makes what you did right?"

"I never said that."

"You promised me," She began to cry. "You promised me that you would save me. And you lied to me. You're leaving me to deal with this on my own." The light illuminated her face and he saw that she was still a child who had been through hell several times and had survived. His heart wept at the sight of her.

"I can't save you. I can't even save myself. I can't help you right now."

And she left.

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The Arena had destroyed them.

Before, they were tormented all day by their mentors and coaches, constantly being screamed at. Their bodies were beaten by the other Careers. They were punished for the slightest mistake. For no particular reason other than it being normal, their families hated them and would continue the torment when they returned home, tired and worn.

But at night they could be alone.

They could sneak out of their homes, being careful to evade the peacekeepers, and meet in their hidden cave. There, they could talk for hours, bandage and stitch up wounds, quietly laugh. They were allowed to do whatever they wanted.

Those few hours in their secret home made every other hour tolerable.

The beatings didn't hurt as badly as they used to. The screams weren't as loud as they used to be. The few moments they could look across the gym and catch the other's eye was motivation to keep going.

When they were released from training, they could go into town and wander. They commanded respect from everyone in the District. As the top two Careers, it made sense that they would always be together. They were each other's shadows, never straying too far from the other.

Despite this, they never grew soft. When they were paired against each other, they swung their fists harder than ever, punching and kicking more violently than their coaches had seen. It was chaotic but they could see the beauty in their fighting that mimicked dancing.

Then, at night, they could tease each other about the other's fighting while they took turns stitching the other up.

He had no idea what love was. That was not a word he had ever heard to describe how someone felt about another person. He loved the Capital, he loved being a Career, he loved the President but that's where he was told love ended. For her, he only knew that he could never bring himself to hurt her. He couldn't see his future without her in it. He admired her more than he admired anyone else. She was his relief.

So it made sense that when her name was called- it was rigged, they had both decided- that he would shoulder his way through the crowd to stand next to her, just like he had frequently done. Only this time, he would be standing next to her while they both fought for their lives.

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He was sitting by his fireplace when she came in.

He sat without a shirt, huddled under a blanket, trying to warm the body that was steadily losing weight.

The tired, shattered look in his eyes made her want to leave. But she couldn't. Not yet.

"I need to talk to you." While she remained awkwardly standing several feet away he turned back to watch the steady flames of the fire. It brought him comfort, he found, to rely on something as consistent as fire.

"I need to talk with you," She tried again. "Won't you say anything? Can't we talk for just a minute?"

"What I want doesn't matter. If I tell you to go away you'll either stay or you'll come back in a few hours."

"You don't have to be like that."

"Like what? Honest?"

"No, rude. Selfish. Other people went into the Arena beside you. Other people who are also trying to wrestle through the memories."

"There are two people. Not "other people." Two people. And you know why there are only two people who survived? Who weren't lucky enough to die in the Arena?" He stood up to face her. "Because _we _killed them. We slaughtered children. Children!" He smacked a vase holding dead flowers off of the table. She didn't flinch when the vase went flying past her and smashed against the wall.

"I remember all of them. Every single one I killed I remember. And as much as I want to take it all back- as much as I want to give up everything I own plus my own life to bring back even one of them, I can't. You can't either. We did unspeakable things but we did them. There's no going back."

"I know."

"So the best thing we can do is try to continue living our lives. We can try to bring some honor to their names, at the very least."

"Go for it. Let me know how it goes. It sounds like you've got everything figured out, including how to deal with the guilt and trauma."

"I have nothing figured out," Her glare directed at him caused him to regret his insensitivity. "I told you before. I can't go through this alone and my doctors don't know anything. I need you to help me. Why can't you do that?"

"Because I'm broken, ok? The Games ruined me. I can't help you. I'm telling you no for your sake. I can't help you."

"You can help me. You just don't want to because it will be hard and ugly and it will mean that you actually have to leave this suffocating lair you've made for yourself and actually get better. You don't want to because it will mean that you will have to work to get better and you can't spend all day everyday wallowing in your guilt."

"You don't know anything. You have no idea what I'm going through."

"No idea?" She scoffed. "I was at your side for every single second of it. I just want to get better." Once again, silence filled the room while they both waited for the other to speak.

"I need to do this on my own." He turned back to the fireplace, desperately hoping she would leave and save them both from the heartbreak that was slowly becoming inevitable.

"What about me? What about us? Am I supposed to go through this on my own, waiting and hoping that one day you'll get better?"

"No."

"No what? No, I'm not supposed to wait?"

"Do whatever the hell you want, I don't care." Despite her best effort, tears filled her eyes, betraying her desire to stay collected. He hated himself for saying everything he said but he couldn't stop himself. She had to leave. He was doing this for her. For them.

"When did you stop caring about me?" Her cracked voice gave away her sorrow. "Was it in the Arena? Was it when I killed for the first time?" Her steps towards him were so quiet that his trained ears were barely able to pick up the sound. "Was it on the Tour? Or was it way before that?" She was right behind him. "Was it when you volunteered? Do you regret following me to the Games? Do you blame me for this?"

"Just leave me _alone!" _His shout filled the room. "Don't you understand? _You _are my last memory from the Games- you are the only thing that's keeping me from getting better. Why can't you understand that?"

"You don't mean that. I need you."

"I want you gone! You can't be here anymore! You need to stop coming to me. I can't live like this. I'm losing my mind!" She placed her hand on his arm in an attempt to quiet him. "Get away from me!" He jerked away.

"You promised me that you would never leave me and now you're pushing me away! Don't go where I can't follow."

"Get out of my head!" He covered his ears with his hands and turned away from her. "I want you out of my head!"

"Stop that," her voice rose to match his. "Stop that right now. You need me and I need you. You can't just shove me out of your life. It doesn't work like that."

"Leave me alone. Please, just leave."

"I can't do that. You know I can't do that. Stop asking me to."

"You don't understand," He turned to grab her by the shoulders. "You are killing me. My episodes are killing me. You can't be here anymore."

"I can't leave you!" She grabbed him around his arms, trying desperately to calm him.

"Stop! Leave me alone! Go away!" He was fumbling out of her arms, realizing that an episode was coming on.

"Let me help you!'

"Leave me alone! Get out of my head!" He collapsed to the floor, his hands clutching his head.

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He was screaming.

When he opened his eyes, his doctor was beside him, shaking him.

"You're ok," He was yelling.

His house had disappeared. He was in a large room with a single-window high off the ground, covered by bars.

She was gone. He was frantic.

"Where is she? Where did she go?" He stood up and began to search the room.

"Who?"

"I want to see her. Where is she?"

"Who are you looking for?" His doctor asked again.

"Where is she?" He roared.

"Oh." His tone made him freeze. "Sit down." It was enough to calm him and make him sit down on the bed in front of his doctor. "You don't remember, do you." It wasn't a question. His anxiety began to increase.

"Remember what?"

"She isn't here," He sighed. "Because she died in the Games."

"That's not true. She was just here. She was just in this room so she can't be dead."

"You hallucinated her being here. She died in the Games. Don't you remember coming to me to help you through the trauma of losing her?"

"I didn't hallucinate. I just saw her. You told me to get rid of all of my memories so I sent her away. I told her to go away. Oh, god. What did I do? I just saw her. I didn't make it up."

"I'm sorry. I really am. But just seeing her was all in your mind. The trauma of losing someone you love can have devastating effects."

"I came to you because I have episodes, not because I lost her. We won together. We went on the Victory tour together and we got our Victor's homes. She was there. I didn't imagine it." The doctor didn't respond. "She can't be dead. She can't be. I need her."

"I'm sorry. We didn't want her to pass but it happened so fast there was nothing we could do." He sat on the bed while his doctor stood by the door for a while, his doctor afraid to say or do anything to set him off.

"How did she die?" He asked eventually.

"It's best if we don't discuss details of traumatic events."

"How did she die? I swear if you don't tell me I will kill you."

"She was stabbed. There was nothing we could do."

"Who killed her?"

"She died towards the end of the Games. It was a fight to the death between her and another tribute. She put up a fantastic fight. Honestly, I'm still convinced she could have won but she didn't have the heart to kill anymore."

"That's not what I asked. Who took her from me? Who killed her?"

"You did." He stopped breathing and collapsed on the bed. The doctor ran to him but he was already sitting up, vomiting on the floor. His tears flowed down his cheeks.

When his stomach had emptied itself, he sat back on the bed.

"I couldn't have done it. I couldn't have killed her. I need her with me. She needs to be here with me. I need her here right now. She can't be dead. I didn't kill her. You're lying to me. I love her. I love her I love her I love her. I want to see her. Bring her in here. I want to see her. I want to see her. She can't be dead. She's alive. You're lying to me. Bring her in here. I want to see her! I want to see her!" He reached out to grab the doctor but at some point, the doctor had slipped restraints onto his wrists.

"Calm down, please. It isn't good for you to get so worked up." His doctor tried to hush him.

"Let her in here! Bring her to me! I need to see her. Let her in! Let me go! I need to see her- let me go let me go let me go! I need to see her!" He was tied to his bed, thrashing against the restraints. His doctor sighed, witnessing a scene he had seen countless times.

A knock on the door to the room interrupted the doctor's thoughts and he stood to leave. He shut the door on the young Victor, tied to his bed, crying for the lover he couldn't remember killing.

"How is he?" President Snow stood outside the door, viewing the patient through one-way glass.

"I'm afraid that there is no progress. This was his third hallucination this week. That totals," He reviewed his papers. "Sixty-three since he was admitted six months ago. Not the worst case I've seen as far as numbers, but the toll these hallucinations take on his mind and body…" The doctor shook his head.

"What can be done?"

"Aside from resurrecting her, not much. The best thing would have been to not send them to the Arena in the first place. But I understand why," He rushed after the President shot him a look. "They were gifted with such a high honor and sent. The Games are critical to our society's success." President Snow nodded and turned back to face the patient.

"Such a sad case."

Inside the room, the destroyed Victor was still thrashing, crying out for the lover he would never again see.


End file.
